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CHOOSE YOUR OWN LINER NOTES!  #1  Truth in Advertising was my idea.  Honest.  It all started when the Arch Bishop lost his genitalia in an awful fight with a paraplegic box turtle over who owned the lost Galapagos Island.  Looking for a cheap wooden substitute for genitalia, the Arch Bishop asked me for help.  I of course was obliged to help.  My Great Aunt, being 9/10ths wood, could have been whittled down, but Uncle Harold would have thrown me to the lemurs.  What was I to do?!  Failure would mean I would be banished from wearing the silk camisoles my fortuneteller prescribed to me.  Finally Lady Luck, in the form of a flaming bus that crashed into my orphanage, smiled upon me.  Being robbed of my senses of sight, smell, and decency, three young minstrels tried to drown out my screams in the triage unit.  Fred, Billy, and Aaron were their names and music was just their day job.  At night they service the sexual desires of criminally insane geriatrics.  Forth hence I brought these three young lads to the Arch Bishop and all was well in the land…except for me because I threw myself into menstrual pit of the Great Ape to end my suffering.  Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes.  Truth in Advertising; a cheap wooden substitute for genitalia.  Sincerely, the Bootblack of Don Knotts.  #2  How is one supposed to do work when the Kaiser demands we wear pantaloons that chafe so?  Once the Gnomes took over my sock drawer, Grandma Harold could never practice law on this side of the Van Allen Belt again.  Astronauts, Astronauts in my soup.  I could cure the plague that has befallen the Eskimos, but I can’t find a descent pair of hedge clippers, what with the vernal equinox and all.  Me Mum was a Bigfoot and me Pa was a Sasquatch, so that’s why I HAVE to be an organ donor.  How many times do I have to commit Regicide before someone will invent a better pretzel dressing than mayonnaise?  Kablooey was a favorite pet of mine, but he was too delicious for his own good.  I’m glad they started giving me paper to write on, for I’d run out of human flesh.  Ping Pong is my best friend who hails from Finland.  Dave is my second.  Truth in Advertising will be the end of us all, so let’s love them for it.  Love, Blort.  #3  Uses for Truth in Advertising or TinA.  ·They’re a terrific anti-inflammatory agent ·Take them to the prom · Light them on fire for a gag moms will love ·Bored of plain old toast?  Tough!  You think you’re so special because the navy needed your scrotum ·They’ll get those tough gray matter stains out of the paneling in your killshack ·TinA is FDA approved.  Just so long as you’re Mitch.  The FDA really hates Mitch ·They’ll look after your house for 17 Popsicles and a virgin goat ·They’ll sharpen your cross bow ·TinA is an efficient alternative to having relations with your cousin · Lather, rinse, repeat · Nine times out of ten they’ll find your car, if by car you mean foosball table warehouse ·Return your unused portion of TinA for a full refund  #4  The story of Truth in Advertising is a sad one indeed.  Truth in Advertising was born Fredbilly Aaronson.  His father was a prostitute to the stars, his mother a long deceased howler monkey.  Truth in Advertising was destined for greatness.  The road to aforementioned greatness started when Truth in Advertising met a lovable and endearing young child named Davey who would let sailors punch him in the face for two bits.  They hit it off right away.  After Truth in Advertising hollowed little Davey out and turned him into a banjo, the powerhouse of music was born.  Originally specializing in Toots & Mahew covers, Truth in Advertising started to write his own songs.  At first such singles as “I Hate Minorities” and “Fetus Blender” were met with lukewarm reviews.  Then, like a pimento loaf through a cannon, Truth in advertising found commercial success with their smash hit “Can’t Buy Me Love.”  After a hilarious lawsuit was filed by some other band, whose name I can’t remember…I’ll just call him Johnny Douchebag…Truth in Advertising was penniless.  He had to sell little Davey and he now tells limericks and hambones inside Indian reservation casinos.  Ahhhh, Truth in Advertising, you teach us a powerful lesson.  And that lesson is…wait…Darling!… put that cheese slicer down…NO…NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!  #5  Waiting for your CD player to reach the proper velocity adequate for rocking out to Truth in Advertising?  Well entertain yourself with these fun and not crappy games!

 

Letter Jumble:  TRUTH NI ADVERTISING

 

Belay your material existence and embrace the metaphysical realm where everything tastes like fudge and the pope remains as asexual as ever…GO!

 

That was damn fine fun!  Wasn’t it dammit?  Look you think I’m made of sheckles?  Like I can pull fun out of the air like some queer genie that won’t stop telling you to hide things in your rectum!  Huh?  Just listen to your damn CD and then sell it and buy me some gin!  GIN!  #6  For our deaf listeners out there, Truth in Advertising is proud to present the theme song to the A-Team in prose form, abridged:  Drum Beat  In 1972 a crack commando unit was sent to prison for a crime they didn’t commit.  They promptly escaped from a maximum-security stockade to the Los Angeles underground.  Today they exist as soldiers of fortune.  If you need help and you can find them, then maybe you can hire the A-Team.  BAAAAAAAA bum da bum bum, bum bum ba bum, bum da bum bum, bum de bum bum bum, bum ba bum bum,  bum bum ba bum, bum da bum bummmm bum ba bum bum bum da ba bum bum.  Thank you and enjoy not listening to this CD.  #7  Truth In Advertising Super Duper Mega Go Wish Fun Time Fun Club Pledge:  “I, Shelia, do promise to listen to only Truth in Advertising.  To listen to any other band is unholy.  The death of a thousand cobras would befall me if anything other than Truth in Advertising music reached my eardrums.  Truth in Advertising is talented and sexy with an aftertaste that can’t be beat.  I will follow the lyrics of Truth in Advertising like a mindless zombie, even when they ask for my underpants.  I promise to buy all Truth in Advertising merchandise, like Fred’s Pregnancy Test, Billy’s Pediatric Nunchucks, and even Taste O’ Aaron Post-Coitus Mints.  Truth in Advertising is my end-all be-all, and I always promise to let them crash on my couch even if I have to work in the morning.  I love Truth in Advertising and all others can go to hell, or Cleveland if you’re a Satanist.  T in A are OK!”  Welcome to the club.  #8  In the event that your Truth in advertising CD doesn’t work take the following precautions: ·Did you try to cram it into a tape player?·Crack open the top of your CD player and stare directly into the laser.  That searing pain means it’s working.·Did you try to make love to the CD?  Damn it, Jerry!  Just because it has a hole…·Lick your CD.  If it tastes like bacon, all is well.  If it tastes like orangutan pancreas, consult a physician.·In the event that you’ve scratched your CD, attach a string to it and mail it to Grandma.  Attach a note saying, “Look Grandma!  I bought you a lovely necklace!”  What a dumb bitch.·Listen to something else-NO WAIT!  #9  Hey you!  Yeah you!  The jackass with the protein deficiency holding this CD.  Listen very carefully, all is not as it seems.  Our government is merely a puppet show.  But not one of those good puppet shows where one of the puppets is always getting hurt.  It’s one of those gay puppet shows about dental hygiene or why Mommy isn’t coming home any more.  The country is run by one mega corporation…Johnson and Johnson.  Oh you heard me right!  It’s all a scheme to rule the world.  “No more tears” my Inuit ASS!  While you’re rubbing that crap in your eyes to win a bet on just how tearless their baby shampoo is, they’re implanting micro chips in your brain!!!  At the push of a button they make you loose control of your bowels and cause you to only desire the sweet ass of Rue McClanahan.  They’re monsters and their next target is the music industry.  Here’s what you can do to help.  Insert your Truth in Advertising CD into your CD player of choice.  Increase the volume to maximum output.  When Old Lady Crenshaw comes over to ask you to turn it down, she’ll slip and fall on your doorstep, which you will have already coated in Crisco.  Leave her corpse on her steps until the morning time.  When the police come (they also work for Johnson and Johnson) and ask you “What Happened?”  Say something to the effect of, “Oh I see how it is Officer PIG!!!  Trying to keep me in because I’m rocking out!”  Now this is important, always roll with the first blow from a nightstick.  It’s just easier.  When you come to in lock up, demand to be someone’s bitch.  This will ensure protection.  When the trial rolls around and Old Lady Crenshaw’s whiny kids are demanding your death, accuse the judge of working for Johnson and Johnson and then defecate in front of the jury.  Now, I can’t stress this enough, the rectum is the worst orifice to be doused in pepper spray, ask for it in the eyes.  Plenty of tears here, eh Johnson and Johnson!?  Just before your execution, ingest this CD.  The rocktacular tunes will turn the lethal injection into a roller coaster of music, and soul, and blinding pain.  This is the only way to stop Johnson and Johnson…through good old Truth in Advertising…or you could just move to Canada.  Either way.